Sherlock Holmes- Consulting Wizard
by Ford.Ye.Fiji
Summary: Sherlock goes to Hogworts, he makes few friends and many enemies. The years leading up to the reign of Lord Moriarty. A collection of One-shots. There might be a sequel. Possibly. Some Mythea, John/Mary, and maybe Sherolly.
1. First Year

**Disclaimer: I do not own the old well-worn story of Sherlock or the beloved book series- Harry Potter. Those belong to JK Rowling and Steven Moffat... Well, actually, Arthur Conan Doyle. Also, I don't own the picture that inspired this. Sherlock's deductions about which house he belongs in goes to a particular artist that I don't remember right now.**

 _"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat then me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,_

 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _The Sorting Hat can't see,_

 _So try me on and I will tell you_

 _Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_

 _Where dwell the brave at heart,_

 _Their daring, nerve and chivalry,_

 _Set Gryffindors apart;_

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff_

 _Where they are just and loyal,_

 _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,_

 _And unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

 _If you've a ready mind,_

 _Where those of wit and learning,_

 _Will always find their kind;_

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin,_

 _Where you'll meet your real friends,_

 _Those cunning folk use any means,_

 _To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

 _And don't get in a flap!_

 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

 _For a Thinking Cap."_

Sherlock yawned as the sorting hat finished its annual poem. He was waiting in line with the other first years. He wanted to get this over with and learn as much magic as possible, he wondered if would be able to get into the restricted section of the library easily.

A small brunette girl stepped forward nervously to the sorting hat. He cringed as it was placed atop her head. It slipped over her eyes, it was way to big for the poor girl.

"Hufflepuff." Said Sherlock, examining his nails. The boy behind him that he had met on the train scowled.

"How would you know that? You've never even _met_ Molly before."

"The same way I know that you fancy that twit, Donovan."

Anderson clenched his fists and pointedly looked away as the sorting hat bellowed, "Hufflepuff!" The girl shakily climbed down and she was accompanied by cheers from the Hufflepuff table to her seat.

Sherlock stepped forward, it was his turn now. He climbed up and his unusually tall figure was able to keep the sorting hat from obscuring his face completely.

 _"Hmm, yes... A TRICKY one... verrrrry tricky."_ It mumbled into his ear.

Sherlock snorted.

 _"Oh, you have something to say?"_ The hat said cheekily. If a hat could even _have_ cheek. 

Sherlock grinned. _"Tricky? Don't be ridiculous."_

He crossed his arms and began,

 _"Gryffindors are meant to be chivalrous and you can see that I have no use for MANNERS or TRADITION. Slytherin is odious and vile and Lucius Malfoy was their golden child, he was my mother's worst enemy. You can't put me there. Hufflepuff values hard work and patience, and I am interested in neither of those- I only care about my mind and what I can do with it, which brings me to my obvious conclusion: Ravenclaw."_

The sorting hat did not speak or react for a full minute before it shouted grudgingly, "Ravenclaw!"

Sherlock allowed himself a smug smile and his fellow Ravenclaws cheered him as he made his way to their table. He took care to position himself as far away from his brother, Mycroft, as possible.

Sherlock did not pay much attention to the rest of the sorting except when he mumbled his deductions and his classmates were astounded and angered.

Anderson and that girl, Donovan were sorted into Hufflepuff, as he suspected. A boy with dark, almost black, brown hair took his seat beside him.

Sherlock knew with a glance that Donovan and Anderson were purebloods and that the dark-haired boy, Lestrade (he had heard Donovan call him that earlier) was a muggleborn.

Another boy, he did not recognize with sandy blond hair was the only other person he bothered to note. The boy was not eleven as all first years were, he was thirteen. Obviously presumed a muggle like his (obviously, dead) muggle parents until his latent talents with magic were shown.

Sherlock muttered, "Gryffindor." The sorting hat confirmed his deduction almost before it touched the boys head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" It bellowed twice as loud as usual. The boy did not jump even though almost half the room did.

He scrambled off the seat and trotted over to the red and gold clothed table, trying to get out of view of the crowd.

After that Gryiffindor, there was a skinny and sickly pale black-haired boy with an instant shout of "Slytherin!"

Sherlock was throughly glad when the banquet ended and he was escorted to Ravenclaw boys dormitory. The only disadvantage to the short walk was the grating mundane babbling of his classmates and Mycroft escorting them pompously down the corridor.

Sherlock resented the fact that Mycroft was a seventh year prefect, so he could look his nose down at the younger years. Luckily, he graduated this year so he would not have to endure his elder brother's quips for too long.

Scratch that, anytime spent with Mycroft was too much to bear.

Unfortunately, Mycroft had already secured himself a place in the Ministry of Magic as soon as he graduated. Mycroft- with his advantageous pureblood status and (Sherlock grudgingly admitted) smarts- would probably reach the position of Minister by the time he reached twenty.

Sherlock scowled at this thought and muttered to a brown-haired girl next to him, "Your name isn't Anthea." The girl started and rushed ahead.

Sherlock smiled. He might like it here.


	2. 1st Year

**A/N:** **I've switched up several things for the sake of the story, 1) Double potions class is Slytherin-Hufflepuff and Gryffindor-Ravenclaw. And, I really don't know about the military academies mentioned here. I just looked up military academies in America and stuck 'em in. Also, I know they mentioned 'The Draught of Living Death' in the first year, but I highly doubt they actually created it until Slughorn showed up. So, I've given the students a week to work on the specifics of the potion in the story. Also, special shout out to TheAmazingAnita! Thank you for reviewing- this one is for you! Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Harry Potter. The British own them.**

Snape growled his usual, "Turn to page three hundred and ninety-four. " Sherlock did so, and studied the potion, 'the Draught of Living Death' closely.

Sherlock had developed quite a reputation in his first week at Hogworts. Everyone studiously avoided him like the plague. It pleased Sherlock and he continued to work alone.

Sherlock held back a groan as they reviewed the information, he knew all of this already. Finally though, review was over and he took out his asphodel root and infusion of wormwood. Professor Snape was finally letting them create their first potion.

A boy rushed in the classroom with his bags banging on his hip. Sherlock glanced up surreptitiously from his cauldron where he was slowly and meticulously grinding his asphodel root into powder. He had already added the infusion of wormwood.

The boy spotted Sherlock's otherwise empty table and hurried quietly over to it, keeping his head down.

Snape glanced up and said, "John Watson, you're late. Five points from Gryffindor."

A few Gryiffandors scowled but a well-rounded boy (Mike Stamford?) waved to Watson and Watson smiled wearily back.

The blond boy gently placed a things next to Sherlock's before he pulled out his cauldron. Sherlock held out his hand and asked, "May I borrow your potions book?"

Watson looked up, "What?"

"Your potions book. I need to check something." Watson handed it over warily.

Sherlock flipped through it and then handed it back before asking, "Massanutten or Missouri?"

"E- excuse me?"

"You were sent to a military camp in America. Was it the Missouri Military Academy or the Massanutten Military Academy?"

"M- Missouri."

Sherlock smirked as he added his root to the bubbling liquid. He loved being right.

Watson prepared his infusion of wormwood and added it before speaking again.

"How did you do that?"

"I know that you went to a military academy in America, I that you're an orphan who's father used to be in the military. I also know he was abusive after he returned from the war, and that your mother died of cancer. I know that you wanted to be in the military before you discovered your magic and you desire to be an Auror now that you have magic. I also know that you have psychosomatic limp, from a weapons accident. I know that you've got a brother you had to leave behind in the orphanage, I assume you have been in contact with him."

"Holmes! Watson! Stop that chattering or you'll get detention! Another five points from Gryffindor and five points from Ravenclaw."

Sherlock added his root to the slightly lavender colored potion.

Watson started cutting his own root and methodically added it to his cauldron, before whispering, "How on Ear- How in Merlin's beard did you do that?"

Sherlock only smirked as he stirred his potion twice clockwise and added his sloth brain.

 **One or two hours later.**

Sherlock poured a tar black potion into his flask before he stepped forward to Snape's desk and handed it to the greasy-haired professor.

Snape raised his eyebrows in, and if Sherlock had been less of a genius- he wouldn't have been able to detect it, an emotion called surprise.

"Holmes."

"Sir." Growled Sherlock before he stalked back to his desk. Watson had, surprisingly enough, a decent potion. Sherlock estimated, if it had been a test, an A or a P. Perhaps an O if Snape was feeling generous.

As the students flooded the corridor, Sherlock was surprised to see Watson chase after him and ask, "How did you do that... Thing, by the way?"

Sherlock grinned, he did love showing off.

"You've got a trace of American twang to your speech- that indicates some time in America, also, you've a tan on your hands that stops at your wrists. Obviously, you've been somewhere sunny, but you haven't been sunbathing. Abroad in America, in the summer. But, why a military academy? You are more muscular then most teens of your age and you walk with a slight limp- because there was an accident with weapons. Why it was weapons, there are several points I won't go into. It must've been military. I know you had an abusive father since you flinch away from almost anybody near you and have been acclimatized to loud noises such as yelling. Your mother... Well, you're an orphan obviously by the way everything is second hand and in the station, no one came to see you off. I know you desire to be an Auror because of notes in your book... Notes on potions and Defense against the Dark Arts and about how they're important to the future. I also know about your brother because in the front of your potions book it said 'With love from Harry.' I know you don't want to take after your father in the military- more because you want to protect other people- sentiment gets in the way. Of course, the two least expensive military academies in America are Massanutten and Missouri."

Watson shook his head. "Wow. That is... Amazing."

Sherlock jerked his head sideways. "What?"

"It was amazing- brilliant."

"Really? That's not what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

Watson grinned and Sherlock gave one of his own back before asking, "I can't believe I got it all right, I usually miss at least one thing."

"Well... Harry's my sister."

Sherlock groaned, "There's always something!"

Watson just grinned as they made their way to transfiguration.


	3. 1 Year

**A/N:** **Blah blah blah, Disclaimer: I don't own anything... Yadda, yadda, yadda and as a most amazing talented author who you really should read right now *hint hint* (Go, go, go, go!) by the name of Viskii once said... Hugbees! Also, I won't be able to get wifi back till August 4th or 5th so don't expect an update till then.**

Two months. It was now November, John and Sherlock were now inseparable. Many at the school of witchcraft and wizardry were surprised at the bond as thick as brothers that now stretched between the two wizards.

John was a humble and friendly Gryffindor and Sherlock was a upstart and imposing Ravenclaw. John was a first year that was two years elder to Sherlock and they still got along fine. Sherlock though, had always been more intelligent then a seventh year (if he was mature as they were was the question.) They were almost polar opposites and yet they balanced each other out perfectly. No one could argue against that.

As Greg Lestrade, a man everyone knew was destined for the roll of prefect, said, "Sherlock Holmes is the brains- but he is surprisingly ignorant in other matters whereas, John Watson is the heart. He keeps Sherlock in line- well, keeping Sherlock's insults to a minimum and John also brings out the more sentimental side of Sherlock. Sherlock says he's a high-functioning sociopath but he does have sentiment."

Of course, he had said that to the other two Hufflepuffs who hung around with him. Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson. Molly Hooper, also hung around with those three. She was a bit strange though.

Her father was mortician and she was quiet and mousy. Many of the teachers were uncomfortable with her unusual knowledge of dead bodies.

Sherlock found it fascinating. John found it disgusting, he was friends- if you could call it that- with Molly, he just did not approve of a girl of such a young age being exposed to so much death and dare he say, gore before she had even reached her teen years.

But, while the relationship of Sherlock and John was fascinating, the victims in the school were most interesting.

It began when a sixth-year student was found right outside of the double potions corridor. Sherlock and John had stood in horror as the students crowded around them.

A first-year girl with bright red hair scratched the top of her head. "What... Happened?"

Sherlock crouched by the body and nodded before Snape swept out of the classroom and McGonagall advanced down the corridor.

"Alright, clear it up! Clear up!"

Snape bellowed, "Go to your next class, Herbology! Go on!"

The children scurried off like frightened mice. John followed Sherlock and whispered, "What is it? What did you find?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "Why do you think I've found anything?"

"You've got that look!"

Sherlock smirked and began, "Sixth-year Slytherin student, Romulus McKellan, is not dead. He self-administered the potion, 'the Draught of living death'. The teachers will fix him up right away. It will be a very long recovery though. He'll be lucky to be fully back before the school year is over and he'll probably be sent to St. Mungo's for the majority of that time. He was probably just a student trying to get attention. He was cheating on his Slytherin girlfriend with a Hufflepuff. The thing that doesn't add up is his specialty is Arithmancy not Potions. In fact, he doesn't have much experience so the draught of living death would have been world's harder."

Sherlock's eyes squinted in his usual, 'I'm thinking' pose. All he needed now was a chair and his hands would be in that sort of prayer-thinking position of his.

John waited patiently and finally Sherlock snapped his fingers. "That's it!"

"What's it?"

"Can't you see it?"

John crossed his arms and signed as they trotted across the grounds to the herbology houses. "Please explain to us ordinary muggleborn!"

"He got it himself, I'll bet anything that someone made it for him, but he doesn't have the jar on him."

John pushed open the door to Madame Sprout's room. They were early. The two hastened to a spot together as other children began to pour in murmuring excitedly.

John placed his books on the ground and spoke in a whisper, "Maybe they were forced to take it?"

Sherlock started and then smacked his head. "Oh, I am so stupid! You're a genius, John! I mean, more then normal... But still pretty stupid- but don't worry everyone's stupid."

John sighed as Sprout appeared and began talking in a high-pitched voice. It was the best compliment he had received from Sherlock so far.


	4. Year 1

**A/N: Sorry it took so long! Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Harry Potter**

Christmas break passed slowly with another poisoning, a third year Gryffindor student this time. Sherlock was convinced it was attempted murder but the teacher's insisted it was just prank pulling or... Maybe attempted suicide?

Sherlock scowled as Pomfrey rebuffed him yet again and threatened to hex him out if he attempted to make his way into the rooms again. Sherlock sat down next to John on the grounds with a huff.

"I can't get in to see the bodies!"

John smirked, "I can get in."

"What?! How?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

Sherlock scowled.

"I got a camera from Molly, she was very happy to help when I told her it would help you. I think she fancies you."

Sherlock's scowl deepened.

"Anyway, it can't be you, so it'll have to be me."

John jumped up as a group of Slytherins emerged chatting together from potions.

"John, wait! Where are you-?"

He watched as John intercepted them and Sherlock's lips curled into a smile, he knew exactly what the foolish and brave Gryffindor was about to do.

John knew what he was about to do was very cruel, but it was for the good of Hogworts.

"Hey! Laird Mayor MiOr! Why ya named Laird?" Watson adopted a Scottish accent. "Do you oown a Scoottish esteate?"

The dark-haired sickly boy scowled angrily. "Call me, Jim!"

"I think we should have a little one off, especially after you dumped Molly Hooper!"

Jim snickered and whipped out his wand. John did not even raise his in defense, it stayed safely in his pocket as he was hit with a particularly nasty hex of boils.

Sherlock clenched his fists as he watched his friend crash to the ground. Lestrade- Geoffrey? Gordon? George? Gavin? That was it, Gavin. Gavin Lestrade ran to get Madame Pomfrey and Sherlock grinned.

He loved having a friend. Wait, friend?

When had John become...?

Sherlock Holmes didn't have... Friends...

A little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like John's said, "No, you haven't got _friends_. You've just got one."

Sherlock stormed off, fuming- caring was not an advantage and yet... he couldn't seem to help himself, especially since the stubborn boy had wedged himself into Sherlock's busy schedule.

There were plenty of other students out there who would want to be the, smartish (well smart to them), blond boy's friend. Yet, John Watson had chosen the reclusive rude Sherlock to hang around with and that- that fact- baffled the detective wizard to no end.

Sherlock shook his head.


	5. FirstYear

**A/N: I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. That's all I have to say, peeps. I'm sorry it took so long. So here is a big chapter. Yay! Also, if you like Mythea, 'A First Time for Everything' by Blood-Sucker-1428 is the story for you. It is the most amazing beautiful thing! Sorry. Anyway, please, please, head over there and read it. Thank you and on with the story! Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Harry Potter.**

January twenty-first dawned bleak and dreary, there had been a third attempted murder. A seventh year girl this time. Sherlock was getting frustrated.

Every single one had been injured in the exact same way, the teachers could no longer deny the fact that the attempts were connected. Romulus and the third year boy- Jason, had not returned from St. Mungo's.

Parents were starting to threaten to draw their children out of school. Professor McGonagall had been called away on urgent business with Headmaster Dumbledore. They had yet to return.

Sherlock threw himself on his bed and groaned.

John crossed his arms. "You need to eat. You didn't eat anything at dinner or lunch. You need to keep your... 'Transport' going."

Sherlock rolled on his back and glared at his friend. "I'm fine."

John shrugged, "Sure right." He left the room to go change into his jim-jams.

Sherlock groaned again and kneaded his pillow against his face.

 **SHERLOCK HOLMES: CONSULTING WIZARD**

The fifth of February blew the last of the snow across the grounds and, down in a unused dungeon, a dark-haired boy crossed his arms and a boy who resembled a weasel groaned.

"Greg, I don't think he'll-"

"Show? And who is this _Greg?_ "

Lestrade groaned as Sherlock emerged with his dark robes swishing about his small eleven year old legs. Anderson stiffened beside him and Donovan studied her nails.

"Hello, freak."

Sherlock's friend (If Sherlock could _have_ friends), John emerged from behind the taller wizard and scowled at her.

Donovan granted John a rare smile and tossed her dark ribboned hair with her hand, "You really should take my advice! Squid fishing perhaps?"

"No, Sally. I'm fine."

Donovan grinned again in her irritating manner and turned away, "I'll go get a teacher now- you should have five minutes."

Lestrade leaned on the dungeon door as Sherlock stepped in and found the blond second-year witch laying on the floor. Sherlock examined her meticulously and Anderson rubbed his chin.

"I think... She was writing something in... Goblin..."

Sherlock backed up and spoke, "Yes, thank you for your input." He slammed the door in Anderson's face. John covered his mouth to keep from chuckling.

"Now, she wouldn't.. Ah..."

Lestrade looked up, "What have you found?"

Sherlock cocked his head and then turned, "We've got to go."

"What- why?"

"Teacher, come on!" They dashed out of the dungeon and rounded the corner right as Filch passed by with his cat. Donovan was explaining that she had found the body and Anderson was waiting for them.

John sighed in relief and the trio departed to their various common rooms.

Sherlock fell into a chair, the others first-years were out watching the others practicing quidditch. John sat across from him, it wasn't allowed to have a Gryffindor in the Ravenclaw common room but Sherlock was after all, Sherlock...

The thinking pose was back. John sighed and began, "Okay, gimme the basics."

Sherlock jerked and then nodded, "Muggle-born- she was wearing a frightful shade of pink under her Ravenclaw robes. The word she was writing- easy. Tore Guy. Why would she write the name though? There isn't any student by the name. Maybe one of the staff... If only we could find out who."

John rubbed his forehead and his stomach rumbled. Sherlock sat up and really looked at his friend. He was pale and looked a bit thin. Actually, Sherlock couldn't remember the last time John had eaten...

Breakfast? He felt guilty now, what with exams coming up, the poisonings they were investigating, and all the studying that was required- John probably didn't have enough time to eat.

Sherlock didn't generally need to study but he worked it in here and there, but John was not as brilliant as himself. Stupid. Now his friend had missed dinner.

Sherlock stood up. "Come on, we're getting something eat."

"Sherlock, it's after dinner- don't worry abo-"

"I'll eat too."

John stood up, "Where?"

"I know a house-elf- Di Angelo, calls himself Di though. He's ancient, been around since before Headmaster Dipett and he can get us some food."

John grinned, "Lead the way, Sherlock."

John and Sherlock were soon seated at a small table in a secluded corner of the kitchen, an old wrinkly elf bustling about. When the food was set before them, John thanked Di Angelo profusely.

As the two first-years finished their satisfying meal, Sherlock noticed something. He sat up straighter and then pointed, "There!" John spun and leapt after Sherlock who was chasing something.

They sped up stairs and down them, they leapt across a few that had decided to move while they were still running upon them. The object they were chasing was a letter.

A purple envelope with bright gold letters that was clearly addressed to Tour Guide. Sherlock with his longer legs was soon ahead. John wheezed as the letter zoomed ahead- almost as fast as a Snitch.

The letter seemed to be slowing down now, and Sherlock leapt up, but missed and he stumbled. John passed Sherlock who waved him on and it was John's turn to try.

John managed to snatch the letter and he fell to the floor with a grunt. Sherlock scrambled down the last few steps and he took the parchment.

It read, 'Tore Guy'

"So close!" Sherlock gasped. He threw the letter on the floor angrily and sat down with a thump next to the blond first-year.

John picked up the letter and turned it over carefully in his hands. "Do you think she sent the letter to find out where he was, but he killed her before she found out?"

Sherlock ran a hand through his unruly black curls. "If she did, then we intercepted it."

John sighed. "Come on, Sherlock, it's almost past bedtime."

"Curfew."

"Sure."

The two boys sprinted away and Sherlock smirked as he noticed that John wasn't limping, but he kept this observation to himself.


End file.
